


Everyone who loves me has died

by SirCloseTheDoorBehindYou



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aaron Burr-centric, Alcohol, Angst, Basically just Burr having a whole bunch of issues, Burr's Theo-less life is lonely, Gen, How Do I Tag, Human Disaster Aaron Burr, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insecurity, Jealousy, Poor Aaron Burr, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, and having a drink with the squad, the things i write at 2am instead of sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21663589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirCloseTheDoorBehindYou/pseuds/SirCloseTheDoorBehindYou
Summary: Aaron doesn’t know how he ended up in this bar, surrounded by four very drunk, loud and obnoxious men. Or rather, he knows but does not for the life of him understand why he ever agreed to go. Alexander could unfortunately be very persuasive and even Burr wasn't immune to his charm.
Relationships: Aaron Burr & Alexander Hamilton, Alexander Hamilton & John Laurens & Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette & Hercules Mulligan
Comments: 31
Kudos: 232





	Everyone who loves me has died

**Author's Note:**

> Watch me waltz into the fandom almost 5 years late and spew out some 2AM angst.
> 
> (I have an attachment to Aaron Burr and don't know if I should be worried about that.)
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Aaron doesn’t know how he ended up in this bar, surrounded by four very drunk, loud and obnoxious men. Or rather, he knows but does not for the life of him understand why he ever agreed to go. Alexander could unfortunately be very persuasive and even Burr wasn't immune to his charm.

"Spit a verse, Burr!" Laurens calls out, apparently wanting him to join in some drinking song, shaking Burr out of his thoughts. 

He has no idea what the song is. So he shakes his head and takes another shot instead.

"You're the worst, Burr." Lafayette informs him. Aaron could never figure out if the man was being teasing or serious when he said that. Maybe somewhere in between. Alexander's friends never really liked him.

That was fine. He didn't really like them either. Besides, it's not like he wasn't used to being alone or disliked. He'd already gotten used to it when he was just a boy.

"Sure." He says and takes another shot.

The gang laughs and goes back to whatever topic they'd been arguing about. After a while they begin to drunkenly sing again - off-key, naturally. Burr sits in silence, occasionally downing shots. He isn't really involved in anything. Not that he minds. That's what he’s used to. Burr just doesn't understand why Alexander insisted on dragging him along with these people who clearly do not like him at all.

"C'mon, Burr, won't you sing with us?" Burr's attention was captured by Laurens asking him to join, yet again. He doesn’t know why the man was so obsessed with getting him to sing.

"I don't-" 'know the songs' he is about to say, but never gets the chance before Lafayette speaks up.

"Ah John, quit trying. If he's too stuck up for that we'll do just fine without him. Or maybe he's just too high-class for good old drinking songs, y’know." 

Alexander punches Lafayette's shoulder playfully, telling him to play nice. Burr doesn't know why those words hurt. He knows it was probably  _ -hopefully- _ just teasing. On the other hand, Burr also knows they don’t like him, don’t consider him part of their group. He knows they think he’s stuck up, boring, opinionless and emotionless. He knows all that. Why does it still sting?

He’s not about to show that, though, so he just grins and goes back to his drink. Talk less. Smile more. Just survive until it's appropriate to leave. Go back to your empty house, sleep in your empty bed and forget any of this happened. Forget how you were again reminded of your loneliness, even among four other people. Especially among them.

He doesn’t know why these bitter emotions are emerging. He has been fine with being alone his whole life and yet, being here with Alexander and his friends -  _ yes, his friends, not Burr's  _ \- makes him feel lonelier than he has felt in a long time. Maybe it’s because of the easy comradeship the four have. They seem almost as close as brothers, despite knowing each other merely for a few weeks. 

They could tease each other without worrying about accidentally offending their current ‘victim’.  _ (That’s what Alexander always called himself when he was the subject of their teasing, though always with a smile and everyone knew he took no real offence.) _

They could fool around with no fear of being shamed or judged.  _ (Of course, they teased each other mercilessly, but should any poor fool say a word against one of them, the others would be at their throat immediately. They’d gotten kicked out once after getting in a bar fight with some drunkards who’d mocked Lafayette’s accent.)  _

They would always have a shoulder to cry on.  _ (Alexander had gotten far too drunk once, started opening up about his past, his father, his mother… Burr had left after the other three had drawn the man into an embrace, sandwiched between all of them, doing their best to offer any comfort they could. Alexander was in good hands and he wouldn’t have known what to say anyway.) _

Someone to share their joys with.  _ (“Washington made me his right hand man!” Hamilton had announced excitedly the second his friends were within earshot. His statement had been met with cheers and pats on his shoulder and various yells of ‘this calls for a drink!’ Upon hearing the news Burr had tried to stomp down the bitterness inside him -it was supposed to be my position, I wanted it and you took it- and flashed a smile before excusing himself.) _

Someone to turn to in their time of need.  _ (“I need someone to teach me how to dance.” Hamilton had blurted out before he could change his mind. The others had stared at him before bursting into laughter, ruffling his hair. “Well, I can’t go to a ball if I can’t dance.” Hamilton had huffed, playfully pushing his friends’ hands away. “Of course we’ll teach you, mon ami.” Lafayette had offered Alexander a hand. Alexander had taken it.) _

Someone to simply invite for a drink and talk to for hours on end about everything and nothing.  _ (Burr often saw them in the bar when he was walking by. He wasn’t usually invited and they rarely even saw him pass by, too engaged in their own conversation. They looked so happy. Glad to be around each other. Content. He didn’t want to ruin that.) _

Burr has nobody like that. He pushes his sorrows down, buries them deep inside him. Confides in no one. Nobody is there to embrace him when he cries and whatever rare joys he experiences don’t feel as joyful anymore after he realizes he can’t share them with anyone. Nobody would care to listen. He deals with his problems on his own. When he drinks, he usually drinks alone. 

He has never felt the bond these men seemed to share, not even with his own damn sister, and he never would. It wasn't fair. Life rarely was. 

Tears threaten to fall. He refuses to let them. He doesn't understand why he takes this so hard. This is nothing he doesn't expect. Nothing he doesn't already know. Maybe the alcohol is making him more emotional. Maybe he should just call it a night now.

Or maybe drinking more would make these feelings go away. They say people drink to numb their feelings, after all. He takes yet another shot.

"Wohohoa, calm down with those shots Burr, you might end up with alcohol poisoning!" Mulligan tells him, finally done arguing with Laurens, who almost looks like he’s pouting.

"Good." is the first thought that crosses Burr’s bitter mind so that's what he says. His filter malfunctions when drunk, it would seem.

"Uhh, no, not good. You can die of that shit-"

"Good." Burr simply repeats, cutting Laurens off and opening the bottle to fill his glass again. 

The others had been singing yet another obnoxious song, one he didn’t know. It was a wonder they hadn't been thrown out yet. The song, however, is suddenly cut short and Burr feels everyone's eyes focus on him. The sudden silence feels uncomfortable.

He doesn’t know what to say so he says nothing, just avoids everyone's gazes and pours himself another shot. He’s about to reach for the glass when it’s yanked away from him.

"Wh-", he begins but never gets the chance to ask after his glass before Alexander speaks up.

"What do you mean 'good'?" He demands, holding Burr's shot out of his reach.

'What a thief. He should get his own shots instead of stealing from others.' Burr's drunken mind supplies before it even registers the question. Of course, he doesn’t say that aloud. That would mean igniting the wrath of the other members of Alexander’s group.

"Would you mind giving that back?" He asks instead, ignoring Alexander's question and pointing at the glass in his hand.

"Yes I would mind. Answer the question, Burr." 

"What do you mean 'what do you mean'? You do know the meaning of the word good, don't you?" Burr snaps. He’s being rude, he knows. He also knows that he wants his glass back and everyone to stop staring. If the way to accomplish those goals is to make the others leave by being rude, then so be it. 

His plan fails when none of them leave. They just sit there, frowning at him. Of course it does. Why would anything he attempts succeed?

"Of course he knows, Burr. He's just asking why you're saying good when referring to your possible death." Lafayette sounds annoyed. 

'Then again, when doesn't he while he's talking to me?' Burr thinks bitterly and reaches for the drink. Alexander only holds it higher.

"What do you care?" He spits out, voice full of frustration and bitterness. They don't care. He knows that. What he doesn't know is why they're being so weird about this. Maybe it's just to annoy him again, to get a rise out of him and in that case they’ve succeeded. "Just give me the damn drink and continue doing whatever you were doing."

"No. Just answer the question. You really think it would be good if you died?" Alexander's stubborn. He won't stop asking until he gets an answer. The others are still staring. Burr wishes they'd stop, wishes they'd just continue singing those awful songs out of tune instead of looking at him like he's suddenly grown a third arm.

"I don't know. Maybe not good. Not bad either." Burr gives him an answer. A vague one. Plays both sides, to see which one turns out better. He's given up on trying to reach his drink, glaring at Alexander instead. Alexander raises his eyebrows but before he can speak, Laurens has already opened his mouth. That's a first. Or maybe not. Laurens seems to be the only one who can match Alexander in terms of loudness.

"Not bad either? What's that supposed to mean?"

Burr's growing more and more uncomfortable with everyone staring at him. He never should've agreed to come. Should've just slammed the door in Alexander's face when he came to his doorstep, talking a million miles per hour as always _. "Mr. Burr, sir you have to join us, it's so much fun I promise it'll be great, just please won't you come with us?" _ he'd talked and talked and talked until Burr just couldn't listen to it anymore and agreed to go. He doesn't understand why Alexander was so insistent. Maybe he just feels bad for Burr. Maybe he feels bad that Burr's such a loner so he drags him along out of pity or some weird sense of obligation. The thought makes him mad. Burr doesn't need anyone's pity. He's been just fine on his own since he was a kid.

"We all die sometime. Might as well be now." He answers, reaching for Mulligan's bottle instead. Mulligan pulls it out of his reach. He hears some disbelieving 'what's and 'why's but doesn't pay attention to them.

"You can't be serious." Mulligan says, tone indicating he really doesn't believe Burr is serious.

But he is serious. If he were to be struck down right this moment, he wouldn't mind. Not really. There's not enough to live for in his life to get sad over losing it. Besides, how could he be sad? He'd be dead. Dead people can't be sad.

"Do I look to be in a joking mood? Just give me the fucking drink. I paid for it." He says, looking pointedly at Alexander.

"You just basically admitted you want to drink yourself to death and now expect us to just give you even more alcohol?" Alexander has the gall to look astonished. If he didn't know any better, Burr would say Hamilton was concerned. Of course, he does know better.

"Yes." He answers. Alexander doesn't budge.

"Are you suicidal or something?" Lafayette snaps when Burr reaches for his drink. There's that annoyed tone again, though now there's something else mixed with it. Something he can't quite place.

Burr doesn't care. He just needs to get absolutely wasted. Forget everything that has happened today. Forget this suddenly overwhelming loneliness, get rid of this feeling of not being good enough...

"Not really." He snaps back. Lafayette pulls his bottle away as well.

"Not really?" Mulligan echoes, tone questioning. The others still haven't stopped staring.

"Yes, that's what I said." He's getting really annoyed now. These hypocrites stop him from drinking when drinking is all they've done the whole night, when drinking’s all they seem to do?

"What's that supposed to mean?" Laurens asks. His bottle is already out of Burr's reach.

"It means not really. I wouldn't put a bullet through my head, if that's what you're wondering." 

The four men almost look... relieved? Burr shakes his head. He must be imagining things. He could just stop talking now. He could and he should, but he doesn't. He blames the alcohol for that.

"But if somebody was to shoot me right now, I wouldn't move out of the way."

He really wouldn't. Why bother? It's not like he has a family to support or anyone who would miss him. Everyone would just continue with their lives. He'd be lucky if anyone would bother to show up to his funeral. Or even arrange one. If somebody were to shoot him now, he'd finally be with his loved ones again. If he were to drink himself to death, at least he'd have  _ someone _ in the afterlife. Why was it such an issue to these people who could not care less about his fate?

There is a cry of outrage. Someone grabs his shoulders, forces him to make eye contact. It's Alexander Hamilton. Of course it is.

"Don't say that! You don't mean that, right?" Alexander is damn near shaking him. It's not helping Burr's drunken mind focus at all. He tries to shrug Alexander's hands off. The man doesn't let go.

Why is it so hard to believe? Not everyone can be energetic, loud and optimistic all the time. Not everyone can talk for six hours straight, not everyone has the same burning passion for life Alexander does. Not everyone has Washington's respect, friends who would gladly risk their lives for them, not everyone has a respected position, endless opportunities in life... 

Life ripped Alexander's loved ones away from him at a young age, just like Aaron's. Unlike Aaron though, life gave Alexander new ones. Jealousy rears its ugly head inside him. Why should Alexander get everything when he gets nothing? What did Hamilton have that he didn't? What did he do wrong? Did life just hate him that much?

Well, life wasn't the only one. At this point Burr really couldn't think of a single person who actually likes his presence instead of merely tolerating it with fake politeness. Except maybe,  _ maybe _ Alexander. But that was just a matter of time. Hamilton would learn to hate Burr soon, just like everyone else had. If he hadn't already, that is. Hell, Burr had learned to hate himself. It was just inevitable at this point.

"Why would I say it if I didn't mean it?" He snaps, the bitterness and jealousy taking hold. He shoves Alexander away from him. Alexander stumbles back, his - no, Burr's - drink goes flying and shatters on the ground. Laurens is there to catch him and sends a glare in Burr's direction. Burr ignores it. It's easier that way. The sound of breaking glass calms his anger somewhat. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Alcohol is definitely not good for his emotions.

"Why do you mean it then?" Mulligan asks. This is starting to feel like an interrogation.

The alcohol running through his veins makes him open his mouth before he can shut it. It makes him break his one rule in life. 

Talk less. Smile more. 

He doesn't do that. Instead he hears himself say: "In the afterlife, I'd have someone who cares. I'd have a family."

His voice is quiet. He doesn't really want them to know. They hate him after all. Every proclamation guarantees free ammunition for your enemies. If he'd just kept his mouth shut in the first place he wouldn't be here, blurting out his insecurities, deepest secrets, all these feelings he's suppressed for so long to these people. 

Burr decides he hates alcohol. Yet he craves more. He wants to drink until he blacks out, until he forgets everything. Then he could wake up later and just pretend it was all a bad dream. Or he could not wake up at all.

He wants to drink, drink, drink but on the other hand he doesn't. The alcohol makes him say things he would never say sober, makes him vulnerable but it also would be a way to forget his misery, even for a moment. Or it could even be a way out...

He doesn't know what exactly he wants, but he does know that being alive is not very high on that list. If it’s there at all.

The silence feels even more deafening now. Sure, there are other customers around making noise, occasionally glancing over to see what the commotion was about, but Hamilton and his friends were never quiet. Not unless something was wrong.

Yet here they are, silent, staring at Burr and glancing at each other, somehow trying to telepathically communicate. Great. Now he's made them visibly uncomfortable with his existence. No wonder. Burr himself is uncomfortable with his existence. But they at least tolerated him when he just kept his mouth shut. They had fun when he just smiled occasionally without interrupting.

That's what he should've done. Talked less. Smiled more. 

Nobody said a word and the tension was becoming unbearable. Burr made the only good choice he'd made the whole day, whole week, maybe his whole life and got up to leave before he ruined anything else. It took some effort. His balance was incredibly poor and coordination absolutely abismal. Maybe he had drank more than he thought he did. Just standing up made his head spin, but he had to leave. 

"Excuse me. I need to go. Forget anything I said, just drunken ramblings, I'm sure you understand. Do continue. I apologize for my actions. Have a good evening." He rambled his goodbyes, even though he didn't know how much of it would be decipherable, and took a step forward. He immediately tumbled. Someone caught him before he had the chance to fall and slid a hand around his waist to keep him steady. 

"Aaron."

Alexander. Of course, who else? His voice sounded strange. Sort of strained. Probably from the irritation of having to look after Burr's pathetic ass, just to make sure he didn't walk right under a carriage in his drunken state. If he made it that far. 

Well, Hamilton should just let it happen. Wouldn't have to worry about looking after Burr ever again.

"Alex'ndr." He responds. Like usual, if not a bit slurred. Maybe more than a bit. Except no, this wasn't like usual, his drunken mind finally realizes. Alexander used his first name. He never did that. It was always 'Mr. Burr, sir' or just Burr. Never just Aaron.

"Sit down, Aaron. Please. You're in no state to go anywhere." Hamilton practically begs, trying to get Burr to sit back down while simultaneously treating him like he'll break any given moment.

This pisses Burr off. He hates being pitied, he hates all these people staring at him like he's an animal in a zoo, he hates Hamilton for getting everything he's wanted and he hates himself for not being good enough. He tries to push Alexander away. This time Hamilton doesn't budge. "Stop pretending to care and just let me go home. I don't need your pity."

Alexander pauses. Alexander Hamilton, pausing. Burr suddenly wonders if this all really is just a dream. 

"Pretending?" Alexander's voice interrupts his thoughts. He sounds offended. Strange.

"Yes, pretending. Or are you trying to say you'd care if I dropped dead? You'd mourn, is that it? You'd mourn the loss of a man who has done nothing in his life, a man who you never agree with on anything, who means nothing to you? Unlikely." The bitterness is back, stronger than ever and he can't stop the words from falling out.

Alexander looks take aback by his outburst. It makes sense, Burr supposes. He usually is always calm and collected, after all. That's not the case now. Not now, with all this alcohol running through his veins, poisoning his mind.

He hates alcohol. He hates the way it makes him lose control. He has to get back to his house now, before he speaks again. He has no doubts that he will just make everything worse if he says another word, if that was even possible at this point.

"Yes." Alexander's voice sounds hard as steel. Burr must look confused because he continues, the volume and intensity of his voice rising with every word. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. I'd mourn. Of fucking course I would mourn, why wouldn't I? Regardless of what you think, I do consider you a friend. And I care about my friends. You are no exception."

He's lying. He has to be. Why would Alexander consider him a friend when they never agree on anything, when everything they do seems to inevitably lead to an argument? Why would he care about Burr being gone when his life would be so much easier without him in it?

He says nothing, sinks deeper and deeper into his self-hatred with each passing thought. People are still staring at the scene they're causing, Hamilton's friends - _ Hamilton's, not his, never his, who would care about him anyway, everyone who loves him has died after all- _ haven't stopped gawking at him either and even Hamilton himself is staring, staring like he's trying to read Burr's mind for the answers he never verbally gave. And he feels sick, wishes people would just mind their own damn business, wishes they'd stop whispering about him, stop pointing at him, wishes he wasn't here, wishes he was never  _ born _ because what's the point-?

It's too much.

"I want to go home." He manages to say, his voice relatively clear considering how his words are slurred from all the alcohol he drank, just to try and feel alive for a moment or just to stop feeling at all.

Hamilton exchanges glances with his friends again, resuming that silent conversation Burr would never be a part of, could never understand because he has nobody to share that with so why even bother to try-

"I'll take you home." Hamilton says finally, still holding Burr up.

"I c'n manage." Burr slurs even though he feels like taking a single step would result in him laying face down on the floor.

"No, you can't. I'll take you home." Hamilton's tone leaves no room for argument. Even though that usually doesn't stop Burr from arguing anyway, right now he's too tired, he's miserable and he just wants to go back to his empty house, ( _ He'd call it a home, but is home even a home if you have nobody to share it with, nobody that'd even come and visit? They say home is where your heart is, that your heart is where your loved ones are but where is your home when everyone you've ever loved has died, then?), _ go to his lonely bed and hopefully die in his sleep. At least then he wouldn't have to face the aftermath of this night.

Hamilton's friends mutter their goodbyes, an odd expression on their faces Burr can't quite identify. If he didn't know any better, he'd say it's badly concealed concern, but he does know better so he concludes it must be some new, deeper level of disdain and disgust. Regardless, they wish him a good night as if this night could somehow get better at all, as if he hasn't already ruined any chances of this night being good, as if he hasn't ruined their night as well. That’s one thing he’s good at. Ruining everything. He slurs something back and they nod like they understand before going back to their drinks.

Then Hamilton's dragging him along and there's fresh air, beautiful fresh air and there are no eyes staring at him, staring into his soul as the alcohol makes him lose control and spill his darkest thoughts that he'd tried so hard to keep locked away-

"You really think that?" Hamilton's voice is quieter than usual. Burr just makes a questioning sound.

"You think you don't matter to me?" Hamilton asks, his voice stronger.

Burr just nods because he doesn't just think so, he  _ knows _ so. 

"Why?" Hamilton asks and Burr must look confused again because he sighs and elaborates. "Why do you think you don't matter to me? Why do you think you don't matter to anyone?"

"We f'ght all the time. You don' like me. You hate me and my views. Or lack of them." He slurs out. He pauses, debating whether or not he should say the next sentence, but before he can make the decision the alcohol makes it for him and he opens his mouth. "I've nobody left who cares. Everyone who loves me has died."

There's a moment of silence as Hamilton seems to process his words and Burr curses himself for ever opening his mouth, curses death for taking everyone from him while refusing to take him. He remembers his parents, his grandparents, all taken from him when he was so young. His sister, who he hasn't heard from in years. He misses them and he misses the feeling of being loved. He almost breaks down crying thinking about them. He blames the alcohol.

Hamilton guides them both to a bench in the park they were passing through. It's completely empty. It's night after all, and the respectable folk have retired hours ago.

"You're wrong." Hamilton states simply, putting an arm around Burr's shoulders. This time it's not just to keep him upright, it's also to offer comfort. Burr doesn't reject the touch, but neither does he reply, so Alexander continues, looking into his eyes earnestly. "I'm still here. I don't hate you."

This time Burr does break down crying. He doesn't know if it's because he's still grieving his loved ones -  _ the wounds never truly heal, they just stop bleeding but a scar will be there forever- _ or because Hamilton is being so kind to him when it's been so long since anyone has even tried to offer him any comfort, even bothered to ask if he was alright or if it's just his frustration and self-hatred finally boiling over-

He doesn't have the answer. So he blames the alcohol.

Arms wrap around him. He's surrounded by warmth, someone is rubbing circles on his back, whispering meaningless words of comfort, words that somehow manage to be meaningless and mean the world to him at the same time. Hamilton. He's still here, didn't leave the second Burr broke down, didn't abandon him  _ (unlike his sister, who packed up one night, never to be heard from again, leaving Aaron all alone)  _ and even as Burr's tears stain his shirt he says nothing about it  _ (unlike his uncle, who told him to 'man up' the second he dared to express any negative emotion, 'Quit crying or I'll give you something to cry about.' he'd snarled, swinging the belt at him and-) _ . The repressed memories surface and he cries harder, burying his face on Alexander's shoulder. Hamilton still doesn't move, doesn't push him away. If anything, he holds tighter, pulls Burr closer.

  
  
_ “It's okay, you're okay, I care, we care, you're not alone, everything will be alright, I promise _ .” Hamilton keeps saying, repeating those words as if saying them enough times would make them come true and just for a moment Burr thinks that Hamilton may be right, that maybe, just  _ maybe _ everyone who loves him hasn't died after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Share your thoughts if you wanna ;) 
> 
> This is one of the first fics I've actually published since I'm too shy to share like any of my work lmao


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